


Debt Owed

by GreyLiliy



Series: A Cappella [6]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Accidental Incest, Angst, Drama, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Parent/Child Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, Spark Sexual Interfacing (Transformers), Wire Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22822612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy
Summary: Tarn has lost Pharma, but the mech had a child with that traitor Ambulon—it would do well enough as a replacement.
Relationships: Original Cybertronian Character(s)/Tarn
Series: A Cappella [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640695
Kudos: 6





	Debt Owed

**Author's Note:**

> [First posted to Tumblr on November 7, 2013 as “A Cappella AU #1 - Debt Owed.” Crossposted to Archive of Our Own on February 20, 2020. Original Notes Have Been Kept.]
> 
> Rated M for Mature Situations: Non-Consensual Wire/Spark Manipulation & (Unknowing) Parent-Child Incest.
> 
> Rothinsel is evil. Here’s your Alternate Version of the Parent-Child (though AC’s an adult in this…) meeting, Greek Tragedy style! I broke the kid. Are you happy!? ARE YOU!? (But yeah, this was more fun to write than it should have been. XD;;)
> 
> This is an AU from the rest of my A Cappella stories.

“Did you stock the store room?”

“Yes, First Aid,” A Cappella said, drawing out his voice in irritation. He’d had his adult frame for two years now, and First Aid still treated him like a youngling. The lithe tank lowered his data-pad an inch from his face, and huffed at his guardian. “Like I do every week.”

“Just checking. Thank you,” First Aid said, with a sigh. He rubbed A Cappella on his shoulder tread and walked off to the back room. “Have fun reading.”

A Cappella threw his data-pad back into subspace and rubbed at his optics. His good mood had been ruined by First Aid’s doubt that chores were done. First Aid wasn’t all bad, but some days he just got weird. Like assuming his ward was unreliable out of the blue, instead of trusting he did his chores like always.

A Cappella kicked out of his seat, and rolled his shoulder. He’d take a walk to clear his head, and than forgive Aid later by offering to pick up dinner. A Cappella flexed his fingers and hummed a happy little tune to pick himself up. You shouldn’t hold grudges with people you lived with, after all.

That’s how things like your father killing your other father with a chainsaw happened.

A Cappella shook his head and smacked the sides of his cheeks. Though it was unavoidable to never think of his parents at all, it was best not to dwell on Pharma and Ambulon too long. They weren’t pleasant thoughts, and the point of taking a walk was to feel better.

Not worse.

The streets were fairly empty for the middle of the afternoon, the young mech found, what with everyone at their jobs. Employed as a stage performer, A Cappella had the privilege of having the day time free, and only his nights busy. It was rather nice if you asked him.

A Cappella hummed as he walked, enjoying the good weather and the quiet open air. Maybe he’d go visit Uncle Ratchet at the clinic. That was always a good way to kill some time, and amuse himself. Plan in mind, the young transformer turned a corner to take a short-cut through an alley-way.

He was halfway down the strip, when he heard the crackle of electricity. A Cappella turned, thinking to find a loosed wire from a poke, but instead found himself looking up at a pair of black, empty optic crevices. The mech was a head taller than A Cappella, and the electrical nodes on his shoulders sparked as angrily as the glare on the stranger’s face.

A Cappella screamed when the mech touched a finger to his shoulder, and the jolt surged through all of his systems.

* * *

Tarn held little value in personal possessions.

They were clutter, and weighed a mech down with such useless emotions as greed and jealousy. They blurred the lines of what was important in life. Physical things were fleeting. Temporary. Tarn had no use for such when eternal loyalty to their lord and master Megatron was his highest calling. So it stood to reason, that when Tarn came across things that he valued enough to claim as his own, they belonged to him fully and completely.

The Doctor Pharma had belonged to Tarn.

Pharma fought it, of course. He was both brilliant and mad, living in the eternal state of denial that he had been claimed, even while writhing in Tarn’s berth. To some end, he had enjoyed that about the dear, dear Doctor. Pharma had broken, falling into submission neatly, but remained himself in his ever lasting hatred for Tarn.

It was the perfect combination.

To Tarn’s deepest regret, almost to the point of grieving, the doctor had escaped Tarn in the end. Even the Decepticon Justice Division couldn’t stand in the way of death when it came calling for their very sparks. However, Primus often gave unexpected favors:

“W-why am I here?” The shivering mech asked, arms bound in stasis cuffs and weapons disabled. He was trapped, center stage in Tarn’s personal hab-suite. He cowed, shoulders bunched and intakes heaving. His optics searched the room, echoing the confusion on his face. “What’d I do to you?”

Pharma had left a little piece of himself behind. A young mech both remarkably similar, and disappointingly different at the same time. But there was enough of the former, that Tarn had no intentions of letting this good fortune slip through his fingers like wasted energon.

“You have done nothing,” Tarn answered. The mech’s widened optics and fearful expression were out of place on Pharma’s face, but it wasn’t Pharma was it? No, just a little piece of the mech that belonged to the six-phaser. Tarn supposed he’d get used to such varied expressions in time. They had their charm, in a way. “It’s your dear father Pharma who owed me a great debt. I expect you to pay it in his stead, A Cappella.”

“You’re Tarn,” the mech whispered, horrified. He clamped his mouth shut, biting his lower lip.

“So you’ve heard of me,” Tarn chuckled. He left his window, and the view of empty space to grant the young adult his full attention. “I suppose that’ll make things easier, assuming of course you knew of our arrangement?”

“You blackmailed him into supplying T-Cogs,” A Cappella said, shrinking and stepping back away from Tarn. “And he went mad trying to kill you.”

“So he did,” Tarn said, halting the young mech’s retreat. He pressed his fingers into the side of A Cappella’s face, and tilted his chin up. He even shared Pharma’s thin face, and it fit so neatly into Tarn’s hands he almost could overlay the red helm in his mind. It’d be so easy to pretend, wouldn’t it? Tarn sighed, turning the mech’s head to the side. “In the end, though, Pharma backed out of his end one way or another. I had to find a new source, and deal with the loss of a productive mine. That Red Rust of his is a nasty contender when the only antidote leaves on a ship of vagabond Autobots. Hardly any survived, Autobot or Decepticon.”

“What’s that have to do with me?” A Cappella asked, optics trying to focus on the purple fingers on his chin. Tarn felt the slim face try to lean away, but his grip kept it firmly in place. “Why am I here?”

“I should be owed compensation, don’t you think? A penalty for running away, and extra payment for my troubles,” Tarn said. He squeezed, and the little tank whimpered. A Cappella’s hands turned in their bonds, and his knees quaked. Tarn chuckled, “As Pharma’s offspring, that debt of his now falls to you.

"Also,” Tarn continued, his energon pumping harder as he thought of the other half of this equation. He chose not to think too long on Pharma’s cheating ways, but it was something that needed to be addressed. “Your other half owes me a bit of satisfaction as well. Half of you bears the spark of a Decepticon Traitor who escaped my reach. Having you in my service fulfills both of those transgressions quite nicely.”

“Service?” A Cappella jerked away, but didn’t make it far. Tarn grabbed the little tank by the arm, and threw him to the ground. The small body hit the ground in a crumpled crash, yelping like a child. For an adult, Pharma’s offspring was woefully spoiled and weak. But, he recovered after a moment, and glanced fearfully up at Tarn. “What sort of service?”

“You know Pharma supplied me with T-Cogs, but did you know what else he did to keep his precious Autobot base safe?” Tarn asked, an amused tone in his voice as fond memories filled his head. He lifted A Cappella by the arm as he walked past, dragging the smaller mech toward his favorite chair. The young one’s arm was the perfect size, and Tarn could almost pretend he held Pharma in his grip. “He was also required to keep me entertained in the berth.”

Heels dug immediately into the ground, and the scared limp form of A Cappella turned into a terrified force desperate to flee. His feet scraped at the ground and his shoulder yanked as hard a she could, trying to dislodge thick fingers from his plating. Tarn chuckled at the pointless struggle. He pulled A Cappella into his lap in the same swift motion that he sat down.

“You’re the spitting image of Pharma, has anyone told you?” Tarn said calmly as A Cappella attempted to lean out of his reach. Tarn grabbed the top of his chest-plate and yanked the tiny thing back to optic-level. A Cappella struggled to balance himself, as his knees sat on either side of Tarn’s thigh. “It’s rather uncanny. The alt-mode is all wrong of course, and I do miss the wings, but one can’t complain when the face is perfect.”

“S-stop,” A Cappella said, a stutter in his voice. The poor thing was a shivering wreck straddling his leg. He completely lacked Pharma’s skill and experience, and Tarn had a feeling that he’d be the same with or without the fear. Ah, well. Tarn rubbed his thumb over the hideous Autobot logo in the center of the white plating. If one wanted to learn how to fight, you threw them into the midst of battle. He’d survive, or his spark would flicker out. Tarn had hopes for the first as A Cappella boldly demanded that Tarn, “Let him go.”

“Now, now. If you struggle that way, this is going to hurt, now isn’t it?” Tarn said, drawing his finger down the tall barrel of the mech’s useless fusion canon. Tarn scooted back in his chair, drawing the lad farther into his lap so that their crotch plates nearly touched. He held tight to trembling armor, and leaned over him, pressing the side of his face-plate into A Cappella’s helm. “This is going to happen, whether you struggle or embrace it. I hope you realize quickly that cooperation is in your best interest.”

“P-please don’t do this,” A Cappella whispered, the terror in his voice causing the syllables to waver. However, his body dropped into a familiar dead weight. The acceptance of the inevitable, even as he voiced one last plea, barely audible. “I want to go home.”

“No one ever gets exactly what they want,” Tarn said, truthfully. He’d rather it be his familiar doctor squirming under him, cursing his name and biting his lip in defiance instead of the frightened youth unsure of himself. But Tarn would have to make due with an inexperienced youth, who had taken Pharma’s face. “Everyone makes sacrifices.”

Tarn slipped his fingers under the armor of A Cappella’s chest, his thumb braced on the middle, pliable plates. Close to the protoform under the armor, the metal was warm to the touch. He ran hot, much like his jet carrier. A Cappella shook his head, and whined like a rusted transformation cog when Tarn’s fingers brushed along an intimate latch. Tarn tugged, but nothing gave. A Cappella’s chest plates were sealed tight.

So the little tank managed a last ditch effort of defiance after all.

“I suggest that you unlock this panel,” Tarn said, leaning back and lifting A Cappella up by the armor piece. His knees hung above Tarn’s thigh, and his feet braced on the edges of the chair. Tarn twisted his fingers, and the plating keened as it stretched. “I have no qualms ripping it off.”

It loosed.

Satisfied, he settled A Cappella back on his leg. The armor center armor plate that held his Autobot insignia detached, allowing Tarn to pull open the two chest pieces. Exposed, the soft blue light of his spark escaped the glass on the chamber that encased it. A Cappella gaped openly, looking down at the light barely visible past the armor piece in the way of his direct line of sight. He cycled air heavily, mouth open as his optics.

You’d think he’d never seen his own chest open before. Tarn tapped his fingers against the edge of the opening. Perhaps he hadn’t. Tarn shoved that thought to the back of his processor. A Cappella had cooperated. He’d bowed to Tarn’s will for fear of his life–just like Pharma.

“Better,” Tarn said, more satisfied with his new charge’s behavior. With arms bound, A Cappella could provide no assistance as Tarn searched through wires and moving parts for his target. But that was fine. Tarn was used to doing all the work with Pharma, so why should his offspring be any different? Tarn brushed his thumb against the open port on the tiny spark chamber, and A Cappella lurched forward with a cry. His helm dug into Tarn’s chest, as he grit his teeth and whined. Tarn couldn’t help the chuckle as the lad’s chevron scratched his chest. “There we are.”

Tarn rubbed the mechs’ thigh with his other hand as his fingers circled and played with the sensitive metal of the lad’s spark chamber. A Cappella had taken to chanting ‘please,’ and 'no’ interchangeably as he squirmed under Tarn’s gentle touch. His knees knocked into Tarn’s thigh, and they occasionally squeezed. The six-phaser took these moments of distracted weakness to free a cable from his own chest. He slid it under the open plating of A Cappella’s chest, and held it between the two fingers that hovered over the waiting port.

“I lied you know,” Tarn said, pressing the tip of the plug on the edge of the socket. He held A Cappella tight to his body, his hand wedged on the young mech’s hip and thigh. This was all so familiar, and yet he couldn’t completely loose himself in the fantasy. Frustrated, Tarn prepared to carry on for better or worse. A Cappella looked up, optics impossibly wide and teeth clenched. Pharma’s face, twisted into something unrecognizable. It disgusted. Tarn shoved the plug into the port with a vicious click. “This is going to hurt.”

The floodgate between their sparks poured open, and A Cappella screamed. He butted his head into the six-phaser’s chest, as if the pain there would draw it away from his screaming spark. Tarn moaned, drinking in the energy he’d so missed, losing himself in memories.

* * *

A Cappella curled in on himself, still half in Tarn’s lap, half in the seat between a thigh and the arm rest. Tarn read a data-pad, of all things, as he stroked the back of A Cappella’s helm with a thumb. A gentle pet. Tarn hummed, and A Cappella struggled to keep his optics online.

He was sated, and too exhausted to move.

It had only hurt for the first half. It had been agonizing brutal pain of the likes A Cappella had ever experienced, but it only for the first half of his torture. Instinct took over without permission, and once A Cappella’s spark reached out on it’s own, the ordeal settled into something more equal on the give and take scale. It ended in a flash that surged through his systems with such power he thought every bit of energy had fled his body. But it had not, and afterwards, A Cappella and Tarn leaned against each other cycling air in time.

A Cappella gathered himself enough to be horrified by what had happened, but was too tired to do anything about it. He allowed Tarn to disconnect the two of them one wire at a time–he had gotten up to four joining them together–and A Cappella slumped against the larger mech’s side, unwilling to move.

Which brought him to the present.

“May I go home now?” A Cappella asked, knowing it was pointless, but he had to. He missed First Aid. He wanted to see his guardian. Be accused of skipping his chores that he’d done long before his adult frame upgrade. A Cappella dug his face into the side of Tarn’s purple armor, wondering why that of all things was at the forefront of his mind. He missed First Aid. “Please.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Tarn said, the rumble of his voice coating A Cappella’s armor. “You see, I lost Pharma because I made the mistake of allowing him to come and go as he pleased. I do not believe I shall be repeating that error with you.”

“I’m going to sleep,” A Cappella said, defeated with the finality of Tarn’s answer. He shifted his wrists, still painfully caught tight in the stasis cuffs, and settled fully against Tarn.

Tarn’s petting shifted from his helm to his lower back, cradling A Cappella to his side. He hummed a new song, something more soothing. A Cappella flicked off his optics, disgusted and tired. He’d think of a way to pay the monster back in the morning.

Next time he’d be ready.


End file.
